


Ice and Fire

by NotFanFiction



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotFanFiction/pseuds/NotFanFiction
Summary: Jon and Daenerys married to end the war and unite their forces, but eventually they feel something else blooming.





	1. Newly Wed

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for this horrible writing, I never was a very talented author.

SANSA

The words echoed through the Sept.  
"In the light of The Seven, I hereby bind these two souls, sealing them as one, for eternity."  
The Septon finished wrapping a cloth to their conjoined hands.  
"Look upon one and other and say the words."

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."  
"I am his, and he is mine,"  
"I am hers, and she is mine,"  
"From this day, until the end of my days."

The Dragon Queen was beautiful- it was a fact that no one in Winterfell could deny. Most of the servants even rumoured that there never had been, nor ever will be, someone more lovelier than she. Sansa was inclined to agree. Still, when the Lady of Winterfell looked on to the couple, there was no love between them. Jon had accepted the betrothal to gain more troops to fight against the 'Long Night', as he called it, and Daenerys Targaryen married him to end the war and secure the North. Since Daenerys kept neither the Southern Gods nor the 'Northern ones', they had agreed to be married both in the Sept and in the God's Wood, a dubious task as the more religious inhabitants of the Wintertown did not agree with the ceremony happening in both places.

Hesitantly, they leaned into each other and their lips locked. It lasted no more than a second, but at least now they paid some, although little, attention to each other. Maybe there could be something there after all.

JON

After the ceremony in the Sept and the God's Wood, they held a grand feast in the main hall of Winterfell. The last time Jon had been in this hall, it was as the Bastard of Winterfell, envious of his half-brothers and  
half-sisters sitting high above all the guests on the lord's table, whilst he mingled with the hedge knights and leaders of small houses, who still decided that they were above him and worthy of better presence. Now, though, the only Stark left was Sansa; the rest had perished in increasingly horrible ways. They called him a bastard, and yet now he sat as King in the North-  
of all 7 Kingdoms, he reminded himself.  
He remembered why he was here. He glanced a look across his right shoulder where the Targaryen sat, forgetting Tyrion Lannister who he had been having a conversation with. She was very beautiful, that could not be questioned. But her pale violet eyes, which Sansa had said to call 'lilac', were bewitching. Jon swore that if he ever dared to stare at them for too long, he would lose himself in them. Atleast, when she wasn't returning his gaze. A glare from Daenerys Targaryen could bring any person to heel. While Jon could fight perhaps 3 soldiers with Longclaw, the Dragon Queen could fend of fifty men with a scan of her eyes- she was a blend of Arya and Ygritte's feistiness with Sansa's girlish appearance. 

"Has something caught your eye, Snow?"  
Quipped Tyrion Lannister, who was already drunk despite the celebration starting only an hour prior.

"No," he lied.  
"But it seems the Dornish Red has caught yours."  
Jon Snow cursed under his breath, and drank deeply from his goblet. The dwarf was observant.

"Oh come now, you wouldn't lie to your dear friend!"  
But he would.

"Perhaps you are seeing double, my Lord of Lannister."

"No, but I did definitely see double quite a while ago in a Sept. Oh, and then again in a God's Wood! Where did your other half go, my King of Westeros?"

"Over there, I believe," he pointed to his right.

"Strange that you have eyes in the side of your head, are you quite sure I had been seeing double?"  
The Lannister chuckled to himself, and waddled clumsily over to the silver-haired girl laughing with his sister. 

That clever little bastard.

DAENERYS

"I wouldn't leave your husband so lonely," Barked a drunken voice from behind her.

Daenerys whirled round, unsurprised to find her drunken advisor smiling sheepishly with his one true love, Dornish Sweet Wine, refusing to leave his side.

"Now is about the time you tell me something clever,"  
She replied, trying to sound commanding and serious, but failing as she noticed the drunken expression on Tyrion's face.

"Oh, but he does miss you dearly."

She allowed herself to laugh.  
"I have never been so sure of a lie in my life!"  
Dany turned around again to resume her conversation with Sansa Stark, but she felt a hand on her arm stopping her.

His voice went deadly serious.  
"Westeros's well-being rests on the successfulness of your marriage. As Hand of the Queen, I suggest you get to know your husband better than you do as of now."

She ought to have been surprised, but all she could do was let out a sigh.

"It would help if I knew where he was seated," she replied impatiently, eager to get the experience over with.

This time it was Tyrion who laughed.  
"A few seats from here, where you were originally planned to be seated until you decided you preferred Lady Sansa's company better than the high lords you're supposed to be complimenting."

And with that, Tyrion took her arm and walked her along the oaken floors to a gap in the titanic line of lords and ladies.


	2. Melting Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion uses Daenerys and Jon's senses of responsibility to convince them to try and acquaint themselves. What could go wrong..?

JON

In the corner of his eye, he spied a petite figure dressed elegantly in a blue and white gown approach him - accompanied by a stumbling short man sporting a bright red tunic, who seemed to be incapable of walking straight forward and waddled from left to right.

Jon could only wonder who this particular party could be…

"Your Grace," Tyrion slurred, so formal it almost seemed mocking.

"My Lord."

Tyrion bowed stiffly and left them to refill his goblet, as the woman sank down into the chair beside him with an unnatural amount of gracefulness. She met his gaze, and for a while they simply stared and studied each other. He knew how much of himself he gave away with eye contact, but most of all, he knew she could feel the fear she instilled in him with the ice that she hid within her lilac eyes. He knew that a weaker man than himself might have been crushed by the pressure. It continued for a few more seconds, until she spoke to him, her voice strong and powerful compared to her small and docile figure.

"Your sister tells me you have ventured to places colder than here," she laughed softly.   
"I find it hard to believe but… enlighten me." She smiled at him. Based on the intimidating nature of her stare only moments prior, he assumed her friendliness was faked, but her smile was warm and her eyes were intrigued- it was genuine, and Jon had never been more confused in his life. They shared stories, but he noticed that they were only the happy ones. She did not trust him, he could tell, but he enjoyed her company and she seemed to enjoy his. An hour had passed, and then two. And when the Dragon Queen finally got up to leave, he felt overwhelmed with a need to stop her.

'What are you doing, you fool!' He told himself.

But his warning had no effect on his actions. When his hand met her arm she looked back, and the ice had found its way back into her eyes. 

"I'm very sorry, Your Grace," he muttered, in a tone which might have belonged to a beat dog.

Suddenly, he noticed a movement in her arm. He tensed, expecting a slap, but instead her spare hand traced up and down his arm, slowly and gently, but her eyes remained icy and unforgiving. Part of him wanted to run, but the other wanted to lean closer into her touch. He felt his eyes wander her face, and he saw her gorgeous features again. And then, she was walking away from him, his legs immobile, his eyes chasing.

DAENERYS

She rushed out of the hall, eager to leave before any of the guests became infatuated enough to remember the bedding ceremony the Westerosi seemed fond of. She could not go to her chambers, as she and her new husband would be expected to go there to consummate the marriage. In all honesty, there was no political need for the deed anyways, as she was barren, never to have children, 'Until the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, and when mountains blow in the wind like leaves'. Dany could recite the whole curse, but it was painful to think of Drogo and her lost child still. She remembered the strange woman from Quarth, who told her another 'prophecy'. Her name had been Quaithe, she remembered, and she had told Dany that she would have three mounts to ride.  
'One to bed,' Drogo, she knew.  
'One to dread,' Her Drogon, the one they called the 'Black Beast'.  
'And one to love.' Love. If Dany could ever truly love someone again, she pictured herself clinging to them like a barnacle to a rock. Oh, how sweet it would be to have someone who cared for her as she did them. But those thoughts were gone- along with all of her family. Daenerys felt tears, hot, wet and miserable, dribbling down her cheeks; and for once Dany was thankful she had no-one, for if they saw her like this, they would know of her weakness. They would know that there was no 'Daenerys Stormborn', only a scared little girl trying to play at war. She quickened her pace, and Dany's feet carried her through the frozen trees- thousands of them, like hands twisting through the ground to escape the hells. The snows coated the ground like a carpet, and the moon shone like wildfire. She felt at peace here; the cold nipping and biting at her, and as all of Winterfell listened to the roars in the distance, Daenerys was not afraid.

She was thriving.

TYRION

The Dragon Queen had never been one to make a scene, but then again Tyrion supposed that truly she hadn't. The only people who would remember it by dawn would be the servants, as every lord and lady in the hall was drunker than Cersei had been on power. Still, Tyrion was overly curious and could assume no reason to think why she would leave in such haste. Perhaps she wasn't a dancer. Perhaps she had a 'drop' too much wine and felt it coming back to haunt her. Or, he thought, she remembered they would have to consummate the marriage. In the distance, some lord or other belched, and the table erupted into laughter. Jon Snow, he noted, remained seated and staring at the door.   
Tyrion took his queue and approached the 'White Wolf'.

"I see your still lost in thought, Jon Snow." He grinned, as he felt all-powerful toying with the boy's emotions.

"Who is she?" He questioned, his Stark-grey eyes never leaving the great oak doors.

He didn't expect him to be so forward.

"Why, who would you be asking about?" Tyrion asked innocently, trying his best to not burst into hysteria and flutter his eyelashes.

When the silence became unbearable, he sighed, and tried to stop playing with the bastard boy.

"She's an emotional mess, and I wouldn't be surprised if in a fit of rage she fed you to one of her dragons."

Jon smiled.  
"No, I don't think I would either." He sipped his wine, and Tyrion was envious as he had forgotten his goblet in his escape from Lord Glover, who had been violently shaking the dwarf's shoulders.

"Are you going to go after her?" He asked, already aware of his answer.

"Yes."

"Won't it be overly strange that both the king and queen are absent from their own wedding?"

The boy opened his mouth to answer, but soon after it closed again with a mouthful of wine instead of a reply to Tyrion.

"Go, the drunkards won't even realise!" He felt himself exclaiming, unintentionally loud.

And with that, Jon Snow marched himself outside and out of sight- It took everything Tyrion Lannister had to not follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading! This is my first fan fiction and I'd love to get some constructive criticism.
> 
> Also, any suggestions for what should happen next?


	3. From the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the courtyard, a figure came running from the God's Wood, but no-one runs without being pursued...  
> and this was quite a force to reckon with.
> 
> (Or Jon ventures out to find Daenerys and doesn't quite find what he expected.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit rushed, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> Some High Valyrian translations:
> 
> 'Daor!' means 'No!'
> 
> 'Daoruni gīmī, Ionos Sōnaro.' means 'You know nothing, Jon Snow.'
> 
> 'Sōvēs.' means 'Fly.'

JON

Crunch. The snows were ankle deep, his leathered boots becoming a glistening silver in the moonlight. Something Jon noted was the fact that when the flakes came into contact with the castle's walls, they sizzled and returned to the sky.  
The snow found truth in Winterfell and turned to flame.  
Jon wondered if the Gods meant for it to be this way, if perhaps they were trying to tell the Starks something important and secretive. But that was not important to him, atleast not now. Ghost was close on his heels, and Jon gave him a reassuring scratch behind his ears to make up for his lack of attention toward him in the Great Hall. His direwolf had been very friendly with Daenerys, and Jon had taken such actions as a good sign- but now he wondered if it was just due to his neglect toward him while he pampered the Southern lords. No matter. Jon left the drunken highborn to find her, and he was positive that they would pass his actions off as duty as a husband,which, although more complex, Jon supposed wasn't entirely false. The only sound was the rhythm of his and Ghost's feet sinking into the white carpets, and the roaring of the Dragon Queen's 'children' which provoked nervousness and whinnying from the horses. The night sky lay calm and still, and the moon and stars glowed almost eerily in the darkness. He wondered where Daenerys could have gone in such weather wearing no more than a silken dress, but it was less curiosity and more concern that overtook his mind as he pondered. In the distance, the ear-piercing cries grew louder. 

'She must have gone to the Lord's Chamber.' he claimed inwardly, doubt circling through his mind like knots being tied with his brain.

Suddenly, a silhouette ran, tripped and climbed its way from the God's Wood almost synchronised with Ghost's head, which cocked up to the sky instantly before a grand shadow cast itself over the entirety of Winterfell's courtyard. The beast screeched, and the seemingly measly amount of air from its throat sent the snows into a frenzy, almost cleansing patches of land completely from the rains of winter. Jon stared on, eyes wide and jaw dropped in awe. The figure, which Jon had passed off as a woman, stopped metres away from him, and yet the beast chose to attack her first. It positioned itself inches away from her face, Jon's blood running cold as he drew Longclaw to protect the girl before the dragon massacred her, Ghost, and himself with a cough or splutter of fire, if the rumours could be believed. 

"Drogon!" She cried, joyfully, as if greeting her death happily and mispronouncing its name.

But before Jon reached the girl, her hands were tracing the beast's scales almost affectionately.

Not affectionately, lovingly.

He sped up his pace, raising Longclaw to match where the beast's eyes met the woman's, and before Jon could react, its head was tilted and its lungs filling with fire. 

DAENERYS

"Daor!" She felt herself screaming, the High Valyrian coming naturally to her tongue.

She did not recognise the idiot who had tried to kill Drogon, but Winterfell had already lost too many to dragon fire for her to allow him to burn. 

"Sheathe your sword, I'd advise it if you value your life." She ordered, and reluctantly the boy returned the sword to his hip.

In the darkness, it was difficult to know if it was true, but Daenerys thought that she had seen the man's lips curl up into a smirk.

"Why is it that you are still alive, and that the dragon would listen to your voice?" He asked, his voice brash, and familiar as the lemon tree outside of the house with the red door.

Dany tensed. Footsteps built behind her, like that of a beast's rather than a man's. She stared on at the boy, hiding her fear, but casually walking around and under the protection of Drogon's left wing.

"Dracarys."

JON

She had uttered something foreign to Jon's ears, but any man could tell that it meant trouble as he tried desperately to run from the building smoke. He recalled rumours of three dragons utterly destroying the thousand of his forces sent to infiltrate the Dragon Queen's camp, and the peace negotiations agreed on there after. He wondered who this girl was and why the beast had listened to her. Jon was baffled as to why he was not burning, but when he tilted his head, only slightly upward, it was clear that the woman had not ordered the dragon to kill him, but rather had pointed West, and away from Jon, for that matter, creating a bonfire which shone brighter than the moon and stars that night. Perhaps the girl only wanted to see his face, and make conversation with him.

Atleast that's what he had hoped.

He still could not see the stranger's face, as she had retreated under the beast's wings before uttering her command. Jon began to wonder who Daenerys' 'child' would listen to if not the Dragon Queen herself.

"Who are you?" Jon had tried to sound daring in the dragon's presence, but he knew all too well his voice shook and his body cowered.

Laughing, the woman began to make her way toward him, careful not to leave the protection of the towering beast she had dubbed 'Drogon'.

"Haven't the songs and tales reached the North yet?"  
He was baffled at the pure friendliness and amusement he heard in her voice.

"The queen is well revered, but not you, My Lady."  
His comment only added to her hysterical laughter.

"And I would be?"

"I am unsure."  
Now even Ghost had seemed to catch onto the jape which Jon could not piece together.

The direwolf left his side, curious and yet cautious of the black beast. But Ghost was not the prime of his attention.  
Daenerys was.

"Jon Snow?"  
Her laughter paused for a while, eyes following Ghost which Jon was thankful for as he knew that he would not survive a stare from her eyes, which he had noted resembled amethysts, at this moment. And though her gaze did not meet his, still the silence was unbearable. The seconds resembled hours, the tension crushing in on Jon's skull.

"Daoruni gīmī, Ionos Sōnaro." She began to laugh again, her eyes finally glancing up to meeting his.

Now he truly was lost. Her eyes staring through everything he had ever known, a lover chanting in his ear.  
'You know nothing, Jon Snow.'  
it was what she had said. He felt it in his blood. Her smile turned to Ygritte's, teasing him and pulling his hair like a child would.

'Daoruni nothing, Jon Snow.' but Ygritte was gone, and Daenerys stood there, her face perfect, her hair blowing in the wind and slowing growing lighter shades of silver as the snow entangled itself in it.

'Daoruni gīmī, Jon Snow.' and though little Arya was gone along with his family, she stood there, laughing at him with her enchanting lilac eyes.

'Daoruni gīmī, Ionos Sōnaro.' and now Jon knew that the Gods were cruel, for everyone they had taken from him were never truly gone. They were hidden in her laughing eyes, her pretty hair, her girlish shape. The Gods had made Daenerys Targaryen everything that Jon had loved, and now he would never lose her.

She would never be his in the first place.

DAENERYS

He looked lost as he stared at her. Jon Snow hadn't known that it was her who was greeted by Drogon, and yet still he would have protected her if need be. He truly was an idiot, trying to kill a dragon single handedly, and yet now he stared on, cold and calculating as only wise men could be. He looked away from her, but not before Dany saw a sense of melancholy in his eyes. Perhaps he was ashamed that he had not recognised her, but no-one would blame themselves in such weather to not recognise even their own reflection.

'In this weather,' she thought.

Dany's spine straightened, shivering from the frozen rain the Northerners called 'snow'. She noticed goosebumps lining her naked arms, and the snows entrapped in her silver hair. Her jaw clenched, and her teeth began to rattle.

"Your Grace, you're freezing!" Dany's eyes widened in fear, but as he saw her expression, it was Jon Snow who began to laugh.

He began to approach her, but not before Drogon bore his teeth at him, each longer than she was tall, and the 'brave' White Wolf jumped back onto his ass in fear.

"Sōvēs," she whispered to her child, and instantly he began to struggle his wings high enough that he might be able to extend them fully. The dragon had grown significantly, Dany noted, yet he still listened to her without hesitation. 

Only now did Jon Snow begin to approach her again.  
Daenerys remembered the beast like movements she had heard previously, and dubbed them to the towering albino direwolf that her new husband kept in his presence. Daenerys had felt a special connection with the beast, nothing like that she had boasted with Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal, but a connection nonetheless. Jon stopped inches away from her face unfastening his cloak, which was a dark sable, and far too big for Dany's petite shoulders. She noticed the Stark direwolf imprinted on the leather straps, and a question burned in the back of her mind.

"Why is it coloured differently?" The words slipped out of her mind and onto her tongue before she could stop herself.

He finished securing it on her, and began to look Dany in the eye, clearly puzzled by the question she imposed.  
"Pardon?"

"Why is this cloak a different colour the the one you used in the Sept?"

He looked taken aback, and scared, but he always looked frightened when she stared at him.  
Well, atleast when she wanted him to be frightened.

"Because I'm a bastard, and I cannot use the Stark colours. It is for that reason they named me the 'White Wolf'."

"Is that why your surname is Snow, and not Stark?"  
He began to look amused. A queen should know these things, and yet she did not.

"Yes, Your Grace." He was smirking shamelessly as they walked through the courtyard.

"Then since I have accepted your name, Snow, I am a bastard too, now, am I not?" and with that, all of his smiles faded into that unreadably stern face he was so familiar with.

Silence ensued, and Dany's hand began to trace Ghost's fur, as she pondered where exactly Jon was taking her. She recalled the Great Hall, and how they would both have been expected to take the first dance, but if she returned there Dany was all too familiar with what would inevitably follow the festivities. There was their chambers, but she was also not eager for the ever-so-polite Jon Snow to avoid her eyes (among other things) awkwardly as they prepared to rest.  
No, that was an experience Dany could do without.

JON

He wanted to answer her, he truly did.  
He wanted to tell her that she would forever be the last Targaryen in all of her glory, no matter who she would find herself alongside at the cost.

But Jon Snow could not find the words. In truth, though, he wanted to ask her everything, from her conquests to her favourite wine, and he could see the want to question everything about the North, of himself, and of Winterfell on her lips, too, but still they both remained quiet as the night above them. Or so he thought.

"Where are we headed, Jon Snow?" She asked, her hand on Ghost, and the other hidden somewhere underneath the cloak that Sansa had made for him before their departure from The Wall.

"Tyrion Lannister is drunk, that is all I'm truly sure of." She laughed, loudly and freely, but her eyes hungered for his true answer, rather than small talk.  
"The guests will be expecting us, dances usually follow feasts."  
For the first time, Jon saw Daenerys' eyes bore into the ground rather than look him in the eye. She did not want to retreat into the warmth of the Great Halls.

"Do you value honesty, Jon Snow?"

He pondered. Honesty had gotten him killed, slaughtered by men he had called his brothers, and yet Jon still valued staying true and being honourable as much as his late father.  
'I truly do know nothing,' he thought.

"Of course, Your Grace."

She seemed reassured, atleast slightly, by his words.  
"I do not want my clothes ripped off by strangers to share... tender experiences, shall we say, with a man whom I do not know." She spoke with ease, until she added a conclusion to her sentence.  
"I will not birth you any children, Jon Snow, because I cannot." He held her by the arm to stop her from moving away from him.

"Then there will be no bedding ceremony, and no perfumed lord will touch you so long as you do not will it." Daenerys' eyes were soaked through with tears, presumably due to her speech on being barren, so much so that she refused to look him in the eye, but Jon could see her smile after he had spoken.

"Then stop calling me 'Your Grace', and let us return to your beloved hall before the 'perfumed lords' you speak of begin quarreling with the Northern ones."

 

The words echoed in his head.  
'I will birth you no sons, because I cannot.'  
What horrors has she been through?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, since our romance is beginning to bloom I'd like to ask you whether you think I should keep this as a Teen and up rating or whether I should turn it to a mature/explicit work?  
> (... if you know what I mean)
> 
> Anyway your feedback on this is appreciated and I'd ask you to leave your answer in the comments. Thanks!


End file.
